


Love Thy Enemy

by heylittleangel



Series: Supernatural Bingos [22]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate universe - Mafia, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Guns, Hurt Dean Winchester, Idiots in Love, M/M, Major Character Injury, Maybe - Freeform, POV Alternating, everyone knows but them, kinda slow burn, revenge planning, the men of letters are jerks, they do take a while to finally be together, they're very oblivious, twice, use of guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heylittleangel/pseuds/heylittleangel
Summary: After being betrayed by the Men of Letters, Dean makes the most stupid, idiotic, and best decision of his life: ask Castiel Novak, his long time enemy, for help.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Castiel & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Supernatural Bingos [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1459561
Comments: 6
Kudos: 100





	1. Meeting An Old (Fr)enemy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, there! How are y'all in this... Saturday? Monday? Wednesday? Who knows anymore? I'm very happy to finally be posting this fic because I loved writing it. Who doesn't love some enemies to lovers and oblivious Destiel? I hope you enjoy these two idiots as they slowly fall in love without realizing it. 
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> (and yeah, there's a song called "Love Thy Enemy" but I swear the title isn't from there)

Dean’s lungs burned from the lack of oxygen, his calves sending sparks of pain up his legs as his feet hit the ground under him harshly, and he didn’t know for how long he had been running; could be minutes or could be hours—though hours seemed  _ more _ than likely. What mattered was that there were still gunshots coming from behind him, some getting way too close for his liking—a few ricocheted right by side—all of his wounds were still bleeding, and Dean had nowhere to go. He wasn’t even sure where he was anymore, running blindly and just trying to lose the shooters behind him in order not to get killed.

He could feel as he lost his pace, starting to slow down, and he was starting to feel dizzy; all of the blood loss and the lack of proper oxygenation certainly weren’t helping. Dean still tried his best to keep running, to push his limits farther, because he knew it would be worse if he didn’t; sure, he would get killed at some point, but the torture that would come first would  _ not _ be worth it. He had seen what the Men of Letters were capable of doing and they didn’t have  _ any _ boundaries; Dean wasn’t looking forward to being on the painfully receiving end.

A few feet from him, Dean saw a dark, narrow alley, too easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention. He looked behind him, seeing that his stalkers still hadn’t turned the corner so they couldn’t see him, and Dean said screw it; he threw himself into the alley, hiding behind a dumpster and curling to make himself as small as possible. 

The right side of his body exploded in pain when he hit the ground, but Dean suppressed a cry of pain as he waited. There were a few shots fired, hitting one of the walls and ricochetting, and then the footsteps of his stalkers passing by the alley as they yelled orders at each other. Dean sighed in relief, allowing himself to finally breathe in and just exist for a few seconds.

He could feel all of his muscles burning and shaking from the effort, his open wounds bleeding freely, dizziness fogging his mind, and the realization of what had happened hit him like a train: Dean had nowhere to go. He was basically homeless, betrayed by the people he thought were his  _ family _ , and nothing but the clothes he was wearing and his phone.

Pulling it out of his pocket, Dean noticed a huge crack from the top to bottom and his phone ignored his tries of turning it on.  _ Great, just fucking great. I don’t even have my phone anymore. Fuck!  _ He threw it at the wall, the crashing sound resounding on the alley along with the breaking glass and Dean just wished he could do it again.

Sighing, Dean pushed himself up with a groan and limped to the other side of the alley. He looked for any signs that could tell where he was and think if there was anyone he could go to that wouldn’t betray him; which he was sure that weren’t  _ that _ many—most people wouldn’t be looking forwards to go against the Men of Letters. 

The names of the streets weren’t very familiar as he dragged himself along them until he found the one he wished he hadn’t: Angel’s Avenue. Really, so many places for him to be lost and be able to find someone he knew, he had to end at one of his  _ enemies’ _ street?

But, not really having a choice and feeling he was about to crash, Dean made his way to number 827, hoping that the owner wouldn’t kill him right there and then; and, if they did, it would be better than going back to the Bunker, so why not? It wasn’t like Dean had a big set of options anyway. He wasn’t even really sure they would be living there still, not after so many years, but it was a risk he was willing to take; not that he had anywhere else to go, so.

Thankfully, he was only a few houses from the one he needed and Dean managed to get there with only a few false steps that earned him some more bruises—thank God no one was around to see him plop his face on the ground. The light on the window was on and Dean breathed out in relief, lipping his way up the few steps and ringing the doorbell. He rested against the frame of the door, the edges of his vision blacking out, and he forced himself to stay awake for just a little longer.

The door opened a few seconds later, revealing a tall, handsome man in sweatpants and an old university shirt, black hair dishevelled and pointing in different directions, blue eyes staring confusingly at Dean, and smelling like coconut fabric softener.

Dean tried to give him a smile before he said, “Heya, Cas. Surprise?”

And then Dean passed out.

* * *

After that, all Dean remembered were blurs; he remembered being caught by Castiel’s arms when he fell forward, then being placed on a soft surface, Castiel’s gravelly voice mumbling something as he walked around Dean; the burn on his wounds making him hiss in pain, Castiel shushing and soothing him during it, one hand pressed on Dean’s chest to keep him still; his clothes being changed carefully and softly; a gentle hand in his hair as Castiel talked to him about something Dean couldn’t understand. 

Dean wasn’t sure how much of that was a dream and how much was reality, but being taken care of was nice. And he assumed he was lucky enough that Castiel didn’t just shoot him at the door.

He woke up and passed out a few times, eyes barely opening enough to let himself see anything, but Castiel was at his sides at all times, telling him to go back to sleep. So that was what Dean did; he would close his eyes and let himself be taken by darkness again, just listening to Castiel; a wonder of wonders in his opinion. He would wake to something warm being pressed on his lips and he thought he tasted chicken soup or some herbal tea before he passed out again.

There were times he thought he listened to two other voices in the house, muffled by the closed door, but they had no meaning to him. Stitches on his shoulder and waist would scratch and Dean would try to get to them, pull them away, but there was always a hand grabbing his own and holding it to stop him from doing it. If Dean were conscious enough, he would’ve taken his hand away, but it was nice and he felt safe, so he would only groan something and go back to sleep, letting the person rub soothing patterns on his hands.

When he finally managed to open his eyes and see anything that wasn’t darkness or blurriness, Dean almost cheered; but when he saw a different ceiling, felt that the mattress wasn’t his memory foam, and that there was something attached to his right hand, he panicked. Dean sat so quickly that he felt dizzy and thought he was going to throw up. He put his left hand on his mouth as he looked around the room and tried to think where he was until he remembered how he had shown up at Castiel’s doorstep out of nowhere.

The room looked neat and organized, bottles of medicine and bandages on the nightstand, and a support for what Dean thought was an empty blood bag.  _ How the hell does he know my blood type? Worse, how the hell does he have a blood bag at home? _

He ripped the needle from his right hand with a grunt and let it fall to the floor, paying attention to the bandages on him; he could feel the stitches that had bothered him so much, a few bandages around his torso, on his legs, and one on his eyebrow. The clothes he was wearing weren’t his own and he remembered when Castiel had helped him change into them, which was just frigging awesome.

Footsteps came from behind the door before it was opened, revealing Castiel in practically the same clothes from when Dean had knocked on his door. This time, though, he had the calmest expression on his face as he walked to one of Dean’s side, placing a tray on the nightstand with a bowl of hot, steaming soup and then sitting at the edge of the bed. He barely paid any attention to Dean’s confused expression, choosing to examine his eyes with a small flashlight and the stitches on his shoulder and waist, but Dean couldn’t help himself.

“What the hell happened?”

Castiel only raised a brow at him. “I should be the one to ask that question, don’t you think? You showed at my door in the middle of the night, while I was calmly doing my laundry,”  _ That’s why he smelled like coconut fabric softener _ , “Looking like you just had gotten out of a torture table, and then passed out on top of me. You were lucky I even took care of you.” Castiel lowered Dean’s shirt, staring at him with serious, squinted eyes. “Why did you come here?”

Dean sighed, wincing when he pulled a stitch. “You were the closest person that I knew around here and I didn’t really have anywhere else to go.” Castiel frowned, confused. “The Men of Letters betrayed me and they sent some people to kill me after I escaped their torture.” Dean shrugged nonchalantly. “Figured you would be nicer than them.“

“Apparently, I was.” Castiel took the bowl from the tray and offered it to Dean. “Careful, it’s hot. And why did they want to kill you?”

“No freakin‘ idea, to be real honest. I think it was because I was close to finding something dirty on them, though I have no idea what.”

Dean dug into the soup, sighing happily at its warmth and ignoring Castiel’s eyes rolling. “That sounds like them. Were you after someone that could have information on them?”

Dean stopped mid-movement, hand frozen on top of the bowl, squinting suspiciously at Castiel. “Why would I tell you?”

“Because I saved your life when no one else was going to. I could’ve just left you to bleed out there or let someone from your family find you. And, also, because I may be able to help.”

Dean hummed unamused but continued to eat his soup. “I was after some girl named Delphine Seydoux. They wanted her because they said she held some ‘powerful and important information’, whatever the hell that means. But I didn’t turn her in when I found her because she told me some serious stuff. Somehow, they discovered it and tried to kill me before I could find out more.”

Castiel nodded, lower lip worried between his teeth as he seemed to think. “I’ve heard something about it too but I haven’t been able to find out much more.”

“Yeah, those sons of a bitch can really hide things.” Dean waved the spoon at him. “But why do you care?”

Castiel avoided Dean's eyes as he stood up. "I'll take a look at your wounds after you eat. You'll probably have to stay a while longer but only if you wish to."

Dean held his arm before Castiel could leave. "Thanks for uh… saving me and taking care of me."

Castiel did something Dean never thought he would see in his life: he actually smiled! Not a big, toothy grin, but the corner of his lips actually quirked up. “No problem, Dean.”

And then he walked away, softly pulling his arm from Dean and closing the door behind him. Dean sighed and went back to his soup, which tasted delicious. He would’ve never guessed Castiel to be the cooking type, but he also would’ve never thought he would save his enemy, so Dean wasn’t the best one to judge. 

He looked around as he ate, paying attention to the little details in the room; one of the walls was painted with a dark blue while the others were an off-white, there were shelves filled with books from various styles, a few pictures hanging on the wall, most of them of Castiel with what Dean thought was his family—he only knew some of the ones that were also in the assassin life but there was no one in those—and a few of Castiel with a young, blonde boy, a little shorter than him, the boy’s face always lit up with a smile. 

Dean guessed that it was Castiel’s room he was in; too many personal details for it  _ not _ to be. It was weird to see how much Castiel looked like a civilian in his own house, amongst his own space. Dean had never seen Castiel in anything that wasn’t a suit and that horrible tan trenchcoat of his, guns on his waistband and on his hand, and Castiel always had an impeccable posture, even during a fight; but, in his own house, Castiel was in comfortable clothes, he seemed at ease and relaxed as he walked, nothing like the soldier Dean knew.

He placed the bowl back on the tray and then forced his legs to the side. Dean groaned in pain but kept going until he managed to place his feet on the floor, feeling sweat running down his forehead with the effort and panting. Apparently, he wasn’t as well as he thought he was and everything hurt like a bitch. Dean had to stay still and close his eyes to wait for the dizziness to go away, trying to keep the soup in his stomach.  _ Shouldn’t have eaten so fast. _

After a few minutes, Dean managed to open his eyes again without feeling like the whole room was spinning and that he was about to throw up. He took a few deep breaths as he gathered enough force to push himself up, using the bed as support. The door opened at the same time he stood up and he barely had any time to realize he was falling before Castiel was in front of him and stopping Dean from crashing his face on the floor, holding him with a huff.

“What the hell are you doing, Dean?” Castiel helped him sit at the bed again, being careful with Dean’s wounds. “You’re not strong enough to be standing up on your own. You’re gonna hurt yourself even more.”

Dean groaned in annoyance, wincing at the pain shooting up his  right leg. “I can stand up on my own, thank you very much.”

Castiel rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Yeah, I can see that. Dean, you’ve been unconscious for a whole week, you’re not at your best. Like it or not, you are going to need some help at first.”

“That’s bullshit, I can deal with a few steps.”

Castiel crossed his arms on his chest and raised a brow at him, lips thinned. “No, Dean, you can’t. You need to give yourself at least a day or two before deciding on going on adventures around the house. Just until you can walk without falling flat on your face.”

Dean huffed. “ _ Fine _ , I’ll wait for your day or two. What the hell am I supposed to do in here?”

Castiel walked to one of his shelves and grabbed a book before shoving it on Dean’s hands. “Read.”

* * *

And so they went; everything became a (weird) routine. Castiel would always bring him breakfast, along with something for the pain, check Dean’s wounds and then he would go on his business; Dean hat spent the first mornings reading and catching up on some of the news, and, when he had force enough, trying to walk around the house, supporting himself on the walls and wobbling on unsteady legs. He would stay with Castiel while he cooked lunch, helping the best he could—which involved, mostly, chopping things, but at least Dean didn’t feel useless. In the afternoon, he would stay in the living room, reading or watching TV along with Castiel. At first, it was as uncomfortable as anything could be until they started to open up a little. 

They talked a little and Dean was finding out more things about him; Castiel had a huge obsession with bees, he enjoyed drinking tea and reading, he loved the spring and flowers, and he was actually nice to talk with. Dean had a feeling that Castiel had a hidden reason as to why he was telling all of those to Dean, but he kept it to himself; it wasn’t his place to actually ask and he didn’t want to lose whatever it was that they were building on those weeks.

There were a few afternoons where Dean would stay in Castiel’s room because there were people there, and he tried his best not to eavesdrop on their conversation with Castiel—though he really wanted to. Castiel, after just some mild complaint, allowed Dean to use his laptop, which meant Dean could watch movies or shows, read about whatever had happened in the world—not his biggest concern but he liked to read it—, or just do useless things on the internet. 

On one of those afternoons, in which Castiel had shooed Dean back to the room when the doorbell rang, Dean was going through memes—sue him, it was a fun thing to do—and eating the chocolate cookies Castiel had baked in the morning, when the voices in the living room grew louder. Dean had never heard Castiel yell or lose control—not even during fights—but he sounded angry as he raised his voice.

Dean couldn’t help himself; he placed the laptop on the bed and pushed himself up, not putting too much weight on his  right leg as he limped to the door. He opened it just enough to be able to listen to the conversation, using the wall as support. He couldn’t see much but the voices were pretty much audible.

“I already told you, Gabriel; I am  _ not _ going back! When I got out, I vowed I would never fall back into those old manners, no matter what.”  _ Going back? What does that mean? _

“Oh, c’mon, Cassie, I need your help and you’re the only one I trust.” 

Dean couldn’t see him but he had a feeling Castiel was giving Gabriel a disapproving glare—Dean was more than used to receiving it by then. “We both know that’s not true, Gabriel. You always have someone that could help and it’s not just to me. Just… don’t drag me back to it. I’m more than happy for having a normal life and I don’t want to jeopardize it.”

The person—Dean assumed it was Gabriel—sighed loudly. “ _ Fine _ . Why do you have to be such a civilian? I can’t even believe Luci or Raphael didn’t come after you yet.”

“Because they know they can’t beat me if they do.” The door creaked as it was opened. “You’re welcome to come visit me at any time, as long as you don’t come for those reasons.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. I’ll see ya, Cassie.”

“Goodbye, Gabriel.”

The door closed again and Castiel’s footsteps could be heard until they stopped in the hallway. “I know you were eavesdropping, Dean.”

_ Damn, how? That shouldn’t be possible.  _ But Dean opened the door to stare at Castiel’s deadpan expression, arms crossed on his chest. He could feel the blush on his cheeks but he did his best to pretend not to, trying to keep a serious expression. “What was that all about?”

Castiel nodded his head for Dean to follow him, turning on his heels and walking to the kitchen. Dean sighed before he limped behind Castiel, using the wall as support until he got to the kitchen, seeing Castiel move around with a kettle and mugs. Dean sat at one of the chairs, breathing out loudly as he took the weight out of his legs—he still wasn’t used to being up for long. He stretched his bad leg to let it rest and watched Castiel boil some water and then put it on the mugs along with tea bags.

Castiel placed a mug in front of Dean before sitting at the chair opposite to him, nursing his own mug on his hands. Dean stared at him with an arched brow, waiting for Castiel to say whatever he was planning on. Castiel was staring down at his mug and he seemed slightly defeated; his shoulders were slumped, he suddenly seemed exhausted and older than Dean thought he was, and he looked conflicted, lower lip worried between his teeth, hands twitching around his mug.

Dean had a sudden whim to place a hand on Castiel’s knee as a sign of comfort but he stopped himself before he could, closing his hand in a fist and pulling it closer to himself. He didn’t urge Castiel to start talking and he waited patiently, just sipping his tea quietly and allowing Castiel to give the first step. If Dean had understood it correctly, it would make sense why he hadn't seen Castiel in so long; Castiel had left his family and decided to live an apple pie life a while ago, and Dean didn't want to force Castiel to tell him about it if he didn't want to. He didn't own anything to Dean and it was his place to tell him or not. But Dean wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t too damn curious.

After a few minutes, Castiel placed the mug back on the table with a sigh and he raised his eyes to meet Dean's. "One of the reasons why I helped you is also because I'm not who I was anymore. I left most of my family behind and I've only kept in touch with those that supported my decision. I… I became a civilian and I've been trying to be a better person than I was before." Castiel rubbed a hand in his eyes and then let it rest on the table. "I was never like my family, Dean. I've never killed innocent people and I did my best to protect them when no one else would. I was too much of a coward at the time to leave and I regret that every second. I wish I could’ve done more before instead of hiding behind the shadows of my family, but I’m trying to make up for it now."

Dean didn't know what to say. He had had an opinion about Castiel ever since his dad taught them about the Angels and he had never stopped to second guess it; he never had a reason to. But having Castiel open up like that, to see him looking so soft and open and afraid, Dean had never thought he would see that, and that completely changed his opinion about Castiel.

Not second-guessing it, Dean placed a hand on top of Castiel's on the table, making him raise his eyes in surprise. Dean squeezed it lightly, giving him a small smile. "I believe in you, Cas. I understand why you wanted to leave and I have no reason to believe you're lying. You did save me and let me stay here when you had no reason to. I wish I had done the same before."

Castiel smiled back, turning his hand to squeeze Dean's. Dean did not pay attention to how their hands fit so perfectly well or how warm and soft Castiel's hands felt, not even callus from years of using a gun on them. He could hold Castiel's hand for hours on end while they stared at each other, getting lost in the deep ocean blue that was Castiel's eyes, saving the slight different blues in his heart, not caring about anything else in the world.

They both startled when there was banging on the door, strong enough to make it shake. “Castiel! I know you’re there and that you have my brother. Let me in,  _ now _ !”

Castiel turned to him with a confused expression, eyes wide and brow furrowed. Dean frowned at him, slowly pulling his hand and standing up. He limped to the door and unlocked it before turning the doorknob, not having time to actually pull it open. He was thrown to the floor, all six feet of Sam on top of him, his arms being pinned to the floor painfully, legs crushed under Sam’s.

Dean tried to fight him off, squirming under his brother as pain shot up his spine. “Sam, what the hell are you doing?”

Sam stopped when he realized Dean was the one under him, eyes wide before he pulled Dean between his arms and crashed their chests together. Dean huffed under the weight and groaned in pain, feeling the stitches pulling and he was sure they were going to break, along with his ribs.

“Sam,” he breathed out, tapping his hand on Sam’s shoulder, “I can’t breathe.”

Sam let go of him, cradling Dean’s face between his hands with worry in his eyes. “Dude, I’ve been looking for you for  _ weeks _ . I thought you were dead.” He raised his head and he seemed to notice Castiel, one of his hands flying to his waistband and grabbing his gun to point it at Castiel.

Dean hurried to place his hand on top of the gun to stop Sam from shooting at Castiel. “No, are you insane?” Sam looked at him with a raised brow, the question written on his face. “He saved me, Sam, he’s not the one that deserves to be shot.”

Castiel seemed incredibly calm, just staring confusedly at them as he kept sipping his tea—how the hell he managed to do that was beyond Dean. Sam grunted before reluctantly putting his gun back in place and standing up. He helped Dean stand up as well and Dean groaned as he placed his bad leg on the floor. He almost collapsed but Castiel was by his side in a second, keeping him up, and Sam helped on the other side. They helped Dean walk to the living room, placing him on the couch. 

Castiel stayed at his side, pulling the collar of Dean’s shirt to check on the stitches on his shoulder. Sam stared weirdly at them, eyes going from Castiel to Dean, back to Castiel and back to Dean. Dean groaned as Castiel checked the wound and waved for Sam to sit.

Dean fought the want to bat Castiel’s hand away from his waist—it was weird enough for Sam to be seeing how Castiel checked Dean with ease, Dean didn’t want Sam to also see him without a shirt. “How the hell did you find me, man?”

Sam sat carefully at the couch opposite to him, eyeing the room warily. “The men that were after you told us where they had lost you, so I tracked your phone. Didn’t help much because the data didn’t update but at least I knew where to begin looking for you.”

“Yeah, it broke when I was being chased so I threw it away.”

"I imagined it. It took me a while to remember that Castiel lived here and more time to actually think you could’ve come here. Not the first place I would imagine.”

Castiel scoffed as he sat by Dean’s side. “I wouldn’t imagine it either.”

Dean finally lowered his shirt, adjusting himself on the couch. “Yeah, well, I didn’t have a lot of places to go. What do the Men of Letters think happened to me?”

“After everything they did to you, they think you’re dead; that you bled out somewhere. Doctor Hess didn’t even send anyone after you.”

Dean scoffed. “Well, at least I’m free of them, then.” Dean relaxed against the couch, letting his head fall against it and his eyes close—being pinned on the floor by his giant brother really took a hit on him. 

He didn’t even realize the tension in the room nor the weird silence. Dean was so relieved to know no one would come after him and that, if he wanted, he could just disappear and get a new life for himself. He could finally do what  _ he _ wanted to do and not what other people wanted him to. Dean could finally go on the road trips he always wanted to; he could get a house, maybe a dog, and cook and bake; no more coming back home all beaten up or having to follow other people’s orders.

Yeah, all of those seemed like amazing ideas and Dean was more than happy to get on with them,  _ after _ he got some sleep.

* * *

When Dean woke up again, he was lying across the couch, a blanket on top of him, and there were no lights on, just one from behind him—probably from the kitchen. Dean yawned and stretched, the stitches on his waist pulling slightly, before sitting. He looked around him, not seeing Castiel or Sam, and there weren’t any noises in the house either.

Dean pushed himself up, being careful with his bad leg, and limped to the kitchen. There were take out bags on the table, only one still closed and with a post-it on it—something Dean came to realize it was Castiel’s thing:  _ Dean, this one is for you. Your brother and I are outside. Meet us if you would like. _

Pulling it from the take out bag, Dean glued the post-it on the table—he could put it with the other later—and opened the bag. There were burgers and fries, and Dean was more than happy about eating anything that wasn’t soup. He grabbed the bag and hobbled to the backyard of the house, stealing a few fries on his way.

As he got closer to the door, Dean started to hear voices and, thankfully, they weren’t angry; Sam and Castiel seemed to be having an actual, honest to God, nice, calm conversation. Dean wasn’t sure what it was about but he was happy enough that he wasn’t going to find anyone dead. 

Opening the backyard door made their voices die down as they turned to face Dean, the table in front of them filled with various papers, post-its, and Sam and Castiel each had a marker on their hands. Dean almost laughed at their guilty expressions, staring at each other before staring at Dean. They moved to hid Dean’s vision from the table, trying to look nonchalantly.

Dean decided to ignore them and close the door, before limping to sit at one of the comfy chairs on the grass, stretching his leg to place it on a stool. He dug into his burger and fries, keeping his eyes on Castiel and Sam, one brow raised in curiosity. Castiel and Sam seemed to be having an internal conversation, staring at each other, moving their eyebrows, and tilting their heads from the table to Dean.

After a few seconds, Sam finally sighed and walked to sit by Dean’s side; Castiel placed the tip on his marker and put it on the table before following. Dean didn’t press them, just kept eating his burger calmly and happily—he wouldn’t lie: it was hard to eat it and his throat didn’t seem to happy about it, but it tasted so good that he kept on eating.

With Castiel and Sam by his side, Sam was the first to clear his throat. “Castiel and I were talking, and I think we could get enough to take the Men of Letters down.”

Dean frowned, hand frozen mid-movement. “What?”

“You said it yourself, Dean: they’ve been trying to hide things and if we can find Daphne again, we could discover what she knows.”

Castiel nodded, handing Dean a paper. “I’ve also been studying and finding things about them. I think we could get more if we work together.”

Dean sighed, lowering his almost-finished burger to take the sheet. He looked at Sam and then at Castiel, squinting his eyes and trying to look over their puppy-eyes. “Fine. After everything they did to me, I’ll be more than happy to screw with them. When do we begin?”


	2. A New, Weird Relationship

They slowly started to build their plan; Sam and Castiel firstly put Dean up to speed, showing him everything Castiel had about the Men of Letters. Dean knew almost all of it, though Sam had no idea how; he didn’t know most of those himself and he had thought he and Dean knew the same stuff. Not that it mattered, anyway; it actually put Sam’s mind at ease knowing Castiel wasn’t lying to them about what he was showing.

Sam could see that Dean wasn’t at his best yet, wobbling as he walked, wincing whenever he stretched himself to point at something, and it was still possible to see the bruises on his face. It lit a wave of irrational anger inside Sam to know that the ones they should be able to call family were the ones that did all of that and it was all he could do not to let it show on his face.

Dean, on the other, didn’t seem too worried about it, his voice nothing but neutral as he talked to Castiel about the Men of Letters and what more he knew. Sam just wasn’t sure if it was true or if Dean was faking it.

And Castiel; now,  _ that _ was someone Sam had never expected to have as an ally. He had heard nothing but bad things about the Angels his whole life, both from his parents and from the Men of Letters, and, seeing how  _ untrue _ all of that seemed to be, it was… disconcerting, to say the least.

Sam wasn’t the biggest Castiel fan yet but Dean seemed to trust him as much as Castiel seemed to trust Dean. They were always side by side, close to nothing of personal space between them, and Castiel was always helping Dean; let it be supporting him to walk or just a hand on Dean’s lower back while Dean pointed at something.

It amazed Sam to see at how relaxed Dean seemed to be; he was never one to enjoy being close to someone, let alone being touched by them. Sam had no idea what could’ve happened between them during those weeks Dean was missing to make them have something like that. And Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to know it either.

Someone snapped their fingers in front of his eyes. “Hey! Earth to Sam, hello? Are you there?” 

Sam blinked quickly to focus on Dean in front of him. “Yeah, sorry. Just… I wasn’t paying attention.”

Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I noticed. Now that we have your attention again, Castiel and I were thinking about finding some more people to help us with this. Someone that  _ isn’t _ loyal to the Men of Letters.”

“I have a few contacts in the police department that I know are against them,” Castiel chipped in, helping Dean sit on a chair. “I could ask for their help. They’ve been after a reason to finally lock them in for a while.”

Sam nodded, looking at the papers in front of him. “I think I can find some people in the Bunker that would accept to side with us.”

“Yeah, I think some of my contacts would join in, too.” Dean turned to look at Sam. “Think you can get my journal in my room when you get back to the Bunker?”

“Sure. Not sure  _ when _ I can give it to you, but I’ll get it.”

“Alright.” Castiel sat at the chair next to Dean, handing him a paper. Dean gave him a barely-there smile before turning back to Sam. “Let’s see what more we could have here that the Men of Letters don’t want anyone to know about.”

* * *

Sam only managed to go back to Castiel’s house almost two months later. Now that the Men of Letters didn’t have Dean anymore and that they considered him as a traitor, they seemed to be putting double of the pressure on Sam; he was also sure that they wanted to keep him in line after Dean’s “betrayal”.

He was constantly reminded about what happened to traitors and how important  _ real family _ was. They did try to be subtle but they didn’t have the suaveness for it, so it sounded like the threat they wanted it to be.

So Sam took his time, pretending nothing had changed and keeping the appearances as he cleaned Dean’s room secretly, getting everything that seemed important and taking home with him, trying to find whatever files that could help them get something against the Men of Letters.

So that was how he got to Castiel’s house, with three full boxes worth of documents and evidence. Castiel and Dean greeted him on the sidewalk, each getting a box—after the two argued like an old married couple about Dean’s leg—and they took them to the living room.

Sam checked on Dean to see that there weren’t bruises on his face anymore, he was able to walk without help, just with a mild limping, and there weren’t any stitches on him anymore.

Dean batted his hands away with a groan. “I’m fine, Sammy. I’m ready to kick some ass already.”

Castiel sighed loudly and exasperatedly behind them, arms crossed on his chest. “I keep telling him he’s  _ not _ but he refuses to listen to me.”

Dean scoffed as he walked to the kitchen, bumping his shoulder against Castiel’s playfully on the way. “I could kick  _ your  _ ass if I wanted to.”

The corner of Castiel’s lips quirked up. “I would like to see you try.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds, both with a small smile, apparently forgetting that Sam was still there.

He cleared his throat loudly, raising a brow as the two turned to him with wide eyes. Sam kept himself from smiling as they both blushed and Dean turned back to the counter, scratching the back of his neck.

Sam sat at the couch, opening the of the boxes and pulling Dean’s journal from it, along with a cellphone box. He placed both on the coffee table as Castiel made his way to the other couch—the smaller one.

Castiel also opened another box and they pulled document after document to put on the floor—it definitely wouldn’t fit on the table—until Dean joined them, handing Sam a mug full with coffee. Sam happily inhaled the scent as Dean sat on the same couch as Castiel—Sam had no idea why since the couch he was on was bigger—and Dean also handed a mug to Castiel, which he replied with a soft  _ Thank you, Dean _ and a smile.

Sam raised a brow but neither of them seemed to notice, Castiel going back to reading the document in his hand and Dean grabbing his journal and the phone.

“I bought one for you ‘cause you said yours broke,” Sam waved at the phone box, picking one of the files.

“Yeah, thanks, I needed it.” Dean bumped his foot against Sam’s with a smile. “So, what took you so long to show up again?”

Sam sighed, letting his head fall against the couch, mug resting on his knee. “Everyone there thinks I’m gonna follow your footsteps and betray them, so they keep giving me hundreds of things to do and  _ constantly _ reminding me about what happens to traitors.”

Dean’s eyes hardened for a second but he ended up chuckling, turning the phone on. “Well, it’s not like they’re wrong.”

“On the plus side, I got two more people to our side: Rowena and Crowley.”

Castiel’s head snapped up, a frown on his face. “As in MacLeod?”

Sam nodded, eyebrows knitted together. “Yeah, why? D’you know them?”

“I’ve crossed paths with Crowley once and  _ not  _ in a good way. How did you get them to do it?”

“I was on my way to steal a few files but Rowena was there first. She tried to lie her way out until I realized she was trying to do the same thing as we are. We talked and she offered to help; said Crowley would want in too.” Dean opened his mouth but Sam spoke first, “No, I didn’t tell them the whole truth and neither about you two. I’ve told her the basics so, if she’s lying and tries to screw me over, I can turn it over on her.”

Dean nodded, impressed. “Nice one. Well, two more people on the team is good. I’m gonna get in touch with my contacts and see if anyone wants in too. Until then,” Dean grabbed a file resentfully. “We have these to have fun with.”

Castiel scoffed and Sam sighed exasperatedly; this would take a damn long time to finish with.

* * *

Another couple of months passed before Sam went back to Castiel’s house. This time, though—and thankfully—he didn’t have any boxes, just a few files, which were gotten by Rowena, mostly; the woman had skills.

The house looked calm and Sam couldn’t see any lights on. He wondered if Dean and Castiel were there but where else could they be? Dean certainly would’ve told Sam if they planned to leave and he hadn’t said a word about it when they last spoke—which had been just a couple of hours ago.

Still, Sam locked his car and walked to the house, knocking on the door. There wasn’t an answer and Sam waited a minute before knocking again. There wasn’t any movement inside and Sam started to grow worried; what if something had happened to them? What if Castiel was lying this whole time about wanting to help and not being on his family’s side anymore just to gain Dean’s trust and then betray him?

Sam tried the doorknob and cheered silently when it turned open. The house was as neat as ever, no signs of a fight or struggle. It didn’t calm Sam’s nerves though, so he placed the files on the coffee table and grabbed his gun from the waistband of his jeans, turning the safety off, and then made his way through the house with quiet steps.

The sound of panting and grunting from the backyard grabbed his attention and Sam walked towards it. He kept his gun raised as he approached the back door, turning the doorknob as quietly as he could before pushing the door open.

There were lights on in the backyard, a big mat over the grass, Dean and Castiel fighting on top of it, struggling to pin the other down. Sam’s finger went straight to the trigger, waiting for an opening, but then Dean laughed as Castiel pinned him against the mat, one hand holding both of Dean’s, the other pressing against Dean’s chest, and each of Castiel’s leg on each side of Dean’s hips.

Sam had  _ no idea _ what the hell he was looking at, finger falling from the trigger as he lowered his hand. Dean, somehow, turned the position around, pulling his legs up and circling them around Castiel’s torso, freeing his hands from Castiel’s to softly press an arm against Castiel’s throat, his other hand pretending to stab Castiel in the heart.

“And now, you’re dead.”

There was a smile on both of their lips before Castiel sighed louder than necessary, tapping Dean’s calf with one of his hands. “Fine, you  _ win _ , happy?”

They still hadn’t noticed Sam just standing there, staring at them with his mouth hanging open, Dean standing up before pulling Castiel up. They both jumped when they turned and finally saw Sam there.

Their hands were still clasped together as Dean slowly lowered them, raising a brow at Sam. “What are you doing here, Sammy?”

Sam stuttered for a second, clearing his throat before speaking, “I got some more files and managed to get away from the Men of Letters to bring them here.” Sam could not tear his gaze from Dean and Castiel’s hands still linked together, even though they didn’t seem to notice. “What the hell were you two doing?”

Dean chuckled softly, finally letting go of Castiel’s hand. “Me and Cas were training.”

“Yes, we figured we’ve been doing nothing for a very long time and decided to practice.”

“ _ And _ Cas doubted I could kick his ass, so,” Dean shrugged happily, his lips open in a grin as Castiel shoved his shoulder.

Sam only sighed, shaking his head; apparently, the two would either argue and bicker like an old married couple or act like two kids, and, apparently, there was no in between. Sam was so screwed.

He waved them in—ignoring the fact that it wasn’t his house—not waiting before walking back in, turning the safety back on in his gun and putting it back on his waistband. Dean and Castiel went to the kitchen before following Sam to the living room, each with a water bottle in hand.

Sam handed Dean the files, not bothering to sit. “Have you gotten in touch with any of your contacts?”

Dean nodded, swallowing some water before replying, “I’ve talked with Charlie and Bobby; she said she would talk to Eileen and Bobby said he would talk with Ellen and Jo. Just waiting on an answer.”

“That sounds great. It’ll be great to have them back on our team.”

“Damn right.” Dean flipped through the file, Castiel reading over his shoulder, until they seemed to notice Sam wasn’t going to sit. “Aren’t you staying?”

Sam shook his head with a sigh. “The Men of Letters have something ‘important’ for me to do today, so I need to go back. Rowena said she would cover for me long enough to give you these.”

“Alright then.” Dean put the bottle and the file on the coffee table before standing up. “I’ll walk you out.”

Sam waved goodbye at Castiel before following Dean to the front door. He hesitated on the small steps, the question hot in his mind, and he turned to face Dean.

“Why are you still here, Dean?” Dean raised a brow at him, confusion splattered on his face. “I mean, you’re good now, so why are you still living with Castiel?”

Dean shrugged, seeming unfazed by the question. “He said I could stay if I wanted and I’ve been helping him take care of the house. Besides, it’s not like I have anywhere else to go and no one would even think to look for me here, don’t you think?”

Sam wasn’t completely convinced about it but Dean’s expression left no room for arguing, so he only nodded.

“Be careful, nonetheless.”

“I always am, Sammy.”

* * *

Sam knocked on the door to Castiel’s house, checking his watch: 03:47am. Dean and Castiel probably must’ve been asleep, but Sam insisted on knocking a little harder; Dean was more than used to being awakened in the middle of the night and Sam guessed Castiel was too, if the Angels were anything alike the Men of Letters.

Thankfully, the door opened to reveal Dean in sweatpants and a college shirt—that didn’t belong to him, Sam noticed—a sleepy expression on his face as he frowned.

Dean checked his own watch and then looked at Sam again. “What are you doin’ here, Sammy? At three-fifty in the morning, that is.”

Sam walked past Dean to the living room, seeing the TV turned on, papers and en empty mug on the coffee table, and blankets on the couch. “I managed to get past Ketch and decided to come here to talk to you.” Sam sat on the other couch, grabbing a few papers. “I have big news.”

Sighing, Dean walked to the couch he was before, slumping against it. “That sounds like  _ bad _ news.”

“And they are.” Sam looked around them, finally realizing Castiel wasn’t there. He frowned, staring at Dean. “Where’s Castiel?”

“He’s at the hospital.” Sam’s eyes widened and Dean chuckled tiredly. “He only works there, Sammy, don’t worry. Cas is a doctor and he insists on always being in the night shifts.”

“Oh. And why are  _ you _ awake at this hour? I was sure you were gonna be asleep.”

Dean shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s kind of a habit now. I’ve been doin’ this ever since Cas went back to work; I wait for him to come back and I use the time to do other things. Got used to it, I guess.”

Sam raised a brow at him and Dean told him to shut it.  _ Okay _ , Sam thought confused,  _ this only gets weirder and weirder _ . Dean, staying up all night just to wait for someone that, in Sam’s opinion, wasn’t their friend? Apparently, Sam was more wrong than he thought: Dean and Castiel had a more “friendly” relationship than Sam could’ve imagined. Dean, on the other hand, didn’t seem to notice or care, and Sam wasn’t going to be the one to point it out, then.

Sam cleared his throat. “Well, I can’t wait for him so you can fill him in when he gets back. The Men of Letters are starting to think someone’s going behind their backs. From what I know, someone’s been telling them about a hidden betrayal.”

Dean sighed, head falling to the couch as he closed his eyes. “Do they suspect you or Rowena?”

“I don’t think so. They came after me as soon as they heard about it and they’ve been keeping an eye on me, but I’m keeping a low profile, ‘helping’ them find the traitor. I’ve been trying to find out who told them about it, but I’m not sure who it is yet.”

Dean seemed to think, lower lip worried between his teeth. Sam waited for him to say something, knowing Dean was probably wondering what to do and what that could entail to their plan.

The papers constantly changed in Dean’s hands, his pen scribbling fastly on them, and Sam couldn’t even keep up with it; he didn’t even know how Dean could still read  _ anything _ on them with all the handwritten notes on the blank spaces.

“Alright.” Dean finally settled his pen down, cracking his fingers. “I’m gonna talk to Cas when he gets home and then with everyone else; Bobby, Charlie, Jo, Eileen, Ellen. Then we can check when we can put the plan in motion. We need to talk to Rowena and Crowley too.”

Sam nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll talk to her. I think it’s time to let her know about the whole plan ‘cause I think it’ll be easier for her to come and see you two than me.”

Dean squinted his eyes. “Are you sure she’s not the one throwing us under the bus?” Sam nodded with his most honest expression. “Okay, then talk to her and be careful there. I’ll set up a date with everyone and I’ll let you know.”

Sam stood up, clapping his hand on Dean’s shoulder with a small smile. “Everything’s gonna work out, Dean, don’t worry.”

Dean sighed, trying to give Sam a smile back. “Let’s hope so. Hopefully, we’ll have all of it over soon.”

“Tell Castiel I said hi.”

“I will. And you can call him Cas, y’know? We’ve all been working together for more than six months; we’re way past the whole ‘full-name’ thing.”

Sam smirked. “Well, guess I’m not as in love with him as you are.”

Dean turned to him with wide eyes and open mouth, but Sam only walked to the door, ignoring Dean throwing a pillow on him and cursing him.

* * *

There were three other cars parked in front of Castiel’s house as Sam, Rowena and Crowley stepped out of Sam’s car. Sam recognized Bobby’s trunk and Charlie’s yellow Gremlin, but not the other one. He figured it was probably from someone of Castiel’s family—Dean had mentioned something about them.

Rowena and Crowley looked around warily, and Sam couldn’t blame them; neither of them knew the place, no idea who they were about to meet or what they were going to see. But they were still there and followed Sam up the small steps to the front door, so he couldn’t complain and he had to hand it to them; they looked completely in control of their emotions.

Sam didn’t bother to knock, just opened the door. The living room was busy, people walking around, talking loudly, papers being passed around. There were two people that Sam didn’t know sitting on the floor close to the smaller couch talking to Charlie, who was on the couch; one of them seemed shorter, slightly long, light brown hair, and what seemed like a permanent mischievous smile. The other one looked taller, short hair with a short beard, hand closed around a glass that seemed to be filled with… champagne? Sam wasn’t sure.

Bobby was sitting on an armchair with a beer bottle in hand, talking to someone on the bigger couch—from the hair, Sam would guess it to be Castiel. Jo and Charlie were on the other couch, Eileen draped over the backrest with her head between them. Ellen was nowhere to be seen but Sam had a feeling that she was probably in the kitchen with Dean, both complaining about something.

Everyone stopped when they saw Sam with Rowena and Crowley, all eyes staring at them. Sam walked ahead, making his way to greet the girls, hugging them and signing a hello to Eileen. He nodded at the two men he didn’t know and then clapped a hand on Bobby’s shoulder with a smile. He turned to talk to Castiel when he saw: Dean was lying across the couch, his head on Castiel’s lap as Castiel ran his fingers through his hair, and in what appeared to be a deep and peaceful sleep.

Sam couldn’t help but stare with a weird expression until Castiel seemed to notice, stilling his hand.

“Dean spent most of the night sick so he didn’t sleep much,” Castiel said, shrugging as if that explained everything.

“I told him to go to bed but he didn’t listen to me.” Ellen came from the kitchen, a tray on her hands with a bowl of hot soups and a mug with what Sam was sure it was one of her “cure-all” teas—that tasted horribly, by the way.

“Yes, and he insisted on saying that he wanted to be here to hear about the plan he  _ already knows about _ .” Castiel rolled his eyes, the corners of his lips quirked up. He shook Dean gently, one hand brushing a few strands of hair from Dean’s face.

Sam shared a look with the girls, the two men only raising a brow, but no one else seemed to notice anything. Dean mumbled something, turning his head to hide his face against Castiel’s stomach.

Ellen knelt beside him, shaking him more insistently. “C’mon, Dean, you need to eat and sleep on a real bed. Let’s go.”

Dean grunted, turning to blink sleepy eyes at them. “Can’t you just let me die in peace?”

Castiel chuckled, helping Dean sit up. “You’re not dying, Dean. Come on, I’ll walk you to the room.”

Dean stood up wobbly, smiling tiredly at Sam. “Heya, Sammy. You finally made it.”

Sam rolled his eyes with a small smile. “Just in time to see you get your ass kicked by Ellen.”

“Yeah, well, what are moms for?” Dean placed a loud kiss on Ellen’s cheek, ignoring her false complaints.

Castiel pushed him, taking the tray from the coffee table. “He’s high on painkillers so he’s way too cheerful. I’ll put him in the bed and then we can talk about the plan.” Dean only waved happily at them as he made his way deeper into the house. “Sam, Rowena, Crowley, these are Gabriel,” Castiel nodded at the shorter man, “And Balthazar,” he nodded at the other. “They’re my cousins and have agreed to help us.”

Gabriel saluted them and Balthazar raised his glass in greeting. Sam smiled at them and waved Rowena and Crowley to come sit with them.

Ellen stopped Castiel before he could follow Dean. “Make sure he eats and drinks the whole tea. He’ll complain the entire time but that’s normal.”

Castiel smiled, nodding. “Yes, ma’am.” He walked always with the tray, his footsteps soon quieting down.

Sam took the spot he and Dean left, Rowena and Crowley sitting with him, Ellen sitting with Bobby. Eillen walked to sit on the armrest by Sam’s side, resting her arm on his shoulder. He smiled at her before resting against the couch.

“Are those two always like that?” Gabriel pointed to where Dean and Castiel had disappeared with a smirk.

Sam sighed loudly. “Pretty much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, did you like it? Leave a comment and a kudo and make this writer very happy!
> 
> As always, you can find me on [ Tumblr](https://gii-heylittleangel.tumblr.com/)


	3. The Raid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, final chapter is finally up! I hope you enjoy it even though it's small. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope everyone's staying healthy and safe!

Castiel walked slowly behind Dean, hand closed tightly around his gun, footsteps as quietly as possible, eyes squinted to try and see anything in front of him. He wasn't sure where they were going but he trusted Dean enough to know that he was going through the right path; after all, Dean was the one that knew the Bunker like the back of his hand. 

Rowena, Gabriel, and Jo were somewhere on the other side of the Bunker, Crowley, Bobby, and Ellen going through the garage, Charlie, Balthazar, and Eileen were working with the police to make sure they would have everything they would need to lock everyone away once they got to them, and there were some policemen surrounding the Bunker to stop anyone that tried to flee.

Sam was waiting for them inside the Bunker, unlocking everything to make it easier to raid the place. He had made sure not one Men of Letters wasn't there so they could get everyone and to be able to give information from the inside; it would make it easier for them to go to where they were needed most.

Castiel's heart beat fastly as Dean stopped before the door, eyes locked with Castiel's. Dean raised his eyebrows and mouthed, “ _Ready?_ ”

Castiel rolled his neck, adjusting his grip on his gun, and nodded. Dean slowly turned the doorknob and quietly opened the door, both walking in with their backs to each other so they could look at both sides and not get caught by surprise.

He closed the door quietly, locking the four locks — the Men of Letters really were paranoid — and taking the small key to put it in his pocket; they could never be too careful. He and Dean then moved through the bunker, checking the rooms and taking down anyone that could be in one of them, gagging and tying them.

They worked as silently as possible until they met Rowena and Jo. They talked quietly to let each other know what they did so far and to draw a new strategy before walking away again. Castiel and Jo walked to one side as Dean and Rowena walked to the other. 

Castiel walked slightly ahead, Jo with her back to him so she could keep an eye on their back. They checked room after room, taking down and tying people up whenever they found someone. Jo was quicker than Castiel, being able to get to the person faster than they could even scream; and Castiel was incredibly amazed by it.

Once they checked all of their side, they chose the closest room to the front door to put everyone they tied up. There were up to twenty people but not one of them was from a high rank; two-thirds were apprentices of the Men of Letters and the rest were just people that had a little importance and took care of most things. Castiel hoped the rest of their group had had more luck than they did.

Jo stayed inside the room to call Dean or Sam and check where they were at, and Castiel stayed outside, pacing through the hallway to make sure no one else would come that way, the safety trigger of his gun released as he kept a tight grip on it, finger close to the trigger and ready to pull it if needed.

He could hear Jo's voice even though he couldn't understand what she was saying as he walked to one end of the hallway. Everything seemed too calm and quiet and it unnerved Castiel; it shouldn't be that easy to take down the Men of Letters. They were one of the most skilled people in the world, they were already suspecting about a traitor between them, and they didn't have more security to avoid something like what Castiel and company were doing? It didn't make any sense.

Castiel hoped he was just being too paranoid about it, but the tingling in his neck told him otherwise. 

And that feeling turned out to be right. Just as Castiel was turning to walk back to the other end of the hallway, almost letting his hand lower down, there were screams and guns being fired too close to them, pounding footsteps echoing through the space. 

On top of it all, Dean's voice came clear as crystal, "Cas!"

Castiel raised his gun immediately, waiting for whoever was coming his way to show themselves. It was a short man, dressed in work clothes — he certainly wasn’t dressed for a fight — with short hair and stubble on his face. He wasn’t anyone known, so Castiel didn’t think twice before taking the first shot, hitting the man on the shoulder, and shot again on his chest. 

The man fell to the floor with a muffled thud, a pool of blood forming under him, and Castiel was lowering his gun when someone else showed up and he was taken by surprise: the person shot him and Castiel felt pain explode on the left side of his chest as he fell to the floor, his gun flying from his hand. 

His vision turned white with the pain and he could barely hear anything around him that wasn’t his own grunt of pain. Castiel wasn’t sure but he could swear he heard a cry for his name just before there were more shots fired. His hand went instinctively to the source of pain but, thankfully, there wasn’t any blood on him, even though the pain was still _very there_. 

Hands roamed over him, a scared voice trying to make its way into his ears, and Castiel forced his eyes to open. He met Dean’s eyes, green, worried-sick eyes, Dean’s mouth moving without any meaning to Castiel. He felt his shirt being raised and Castiel groaned in pain when his chest was pressed.

Dean still seemed to sigh in relief and Castiel was being pulled up to sit with back against Dean’s chest, Jo on Castiel’s other side with her gun pointed to one end of the hallway to make sure no one would get them by surprise again. Castiel let his head rest against Dean’s chest for a few seconds, his hearing slowly starting to come back, the whiteness in his vision disappearing. 

“Hey, Cas, can you hear me?” Dean’s voice was muffled and it sounded as if it was underwater.

Castiel turned to face Dean, giving him a small smile. “Barely, but yes.” He tried to move, but groaned again when another spark of pain shot up his neck. “How bad is it?”

Dean seemed to check him, opening his bullet-proof vest. “You’re gonna have one hell of a bruise, but you’ll live. Guess this time is my turn to take care of you.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head fondly at Dean. “Hopefully, you’re a better doctor than you are a patient.”

“Alright, you two,” Jo meddled, “Quit the flirting. We still have some people to take down.” Jo stood up, stretching her hand to Castiel. 

He grabbed, letting her pull him to his feet as Dean pushed him up, grunting at the movement on his left arm. The pain was still a lot but at least Castiel could see and hear again, so he took it as a sign that he could keep up with the fight. Dean stood up by his side, handing Castiel his gun back, and the three of them went back to fighting. Crowley and Ellen were in the room taking care of the people they had caught, and Sam and Eileen were coming from one end of the hallway. 

Castiel noticed two bodies on the floor, one of the man he shot and the other he guessed was the one who shot him. They were both staring at the ceiling with dead eyes, blood all around them. He didn’t look at them for too long, following Dean to the main room of the Bunker. The police were already there, Balthazar and Charlie with them as they took custody of the high-ranking people. 

He was glad to see Dr. Hess and all of the Elders cuffed up as they were searched by the officers. Castiel stopped to talk to the officers he knew, saying they did a good job and asking if they had everything they needed to. Charlie went to hug him but Castiel stopped her with one arm.

Showing the dark bruise that was forming on his chest, Castiel explained, “One of them shot me over my vest and it still hurts.”

Charlie sucked a sharp breath in, grimacing. “Yeah, I can imagine. But that’s all, right? You’re good besides that?”

“Yes, one shot is good enough for me.”

They chuckled together as Dean and Sam walked closer and stopped in front of them. Dean was looking around, his eyes filled with suspicion and shoulds still tensed, not seeming to actually believe they were there as Sam looked something over in his tablet. Castiel raised a brow at Dean, who only waved for Castiel to follow him as he walked a little far away from everyone.

Castiel walked behind him, putting his gun back in its holster and still confused by Dean, but waiting to see what Dean wanted to talk to him about. Dean didn’t seem too eager on speaking first, avoiding Castiel’s eyes as he stared at the floor.

“What is it, Dean?” Castiel placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, waiting for Dean to raise his head only for him to let it fall.

“Just,” Dean sighed, giving another look around the room. “We did it, y’know? We got the Men of Letters and we got the Bunker, but what the hell are we supposed to do with this?”

Castiel frowned. “Is there anything you _want_ to do with the Bunker, Dean?”

“No, not really. I mean, Sam has a few ideas but I don’t know.” Dean’s eyes locked with Castiel’s. “What do you think I should do?”

"This was your home, Dean. You and Sam should be the ones to decide what to do with it."

Dean nodded with a sigh as he looked around with slumped shoulders. "Yeah, I guess you're right. That doesn't make it good."

Castiel smiled at him, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezing it softly. "But you have a way to _make_ it be good." Dean smiled back at him. "You should talk to Sam about it and see if you two can arrive at an agreement. I'll wait for you outside. Good luck."

* * *

Castiel was watching the sun set on the horizon, the sky painted in pink and yellowish colours, the start of a cool breeze flowing around. It was peaceful and soothing, and it was everything he needed after such a stressful day; not sleeping for more than twenty-four hours, the tension and anxiousness of raiding the Bunker, and then getting shot.

It was more than he wanted for a day and the only thing he wanted now was to get some rest, fall onto his bed to sleep for a whole day, soak in a hot bathtub for a few hours, eat; not necessarily in that order. He had managed to take his vest off after excruciating minutes of trying and moving his left arm too much, and had left it rest by his side as he checked the bruise.

It was swelling, it hurt, and it looked ugly, but Castiel had been more than lucky that the bullet got to the vest; a few inches up and it would’ve gotten on his neck, so he can’t complain much.

After a few hours, the door behind him opened and Castiel turned to see Dean walking out of the Bunker. He gave Dean a small smile, which Dean returned tiredly, but there was an easiness on Dean's posture that showed how a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Dean sat by Castiel's side with their shoulders touching and, together, they watched the sun in silence. Castiel leaned into Dean's touch with a happy sigh, closing his eyes to just enjoy their closeness. 

After a while, Castiel broke the silence, “So, what did you and Sam agreed to?”

“Well, he wants to turn the Bunker around, create something new here. He said we have so many resources to let it all go to waste and Rowena and Eileen seem to share a few ideas with him.”

Castiel raised a brow. “And you?”

Dean sighed, shoulders slumping slightly. “It seems like a good idea but it’s nothing I wanna do. Told him he can do whatever he wants with it, I just wanna live my life now, no more worries about the Bunker or whatever.”

Castiel bumped his good shoulder playfully against Dean’s. “That’s good, Dean, and you deserve it.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

They fell back into silence, their heads resting together, Dean's hair tickling Castiel's cheek, but he didn't mind it at all; it was actually nice and he snuggled closer to Dean. He felt the pull on Dean's cheek when he smiled and Castiel smiled instinctively.

Dean's hand touched his cheek and Castiel opened his eyes to meet Dean's, closer than he thought it was. They were practically breathing the same air, lips mere inches apart, eyes glued at each other. Castiel barely noticed when Dean moved closer until there was the barely-there touch of Dean's lips on him, and Castiel gave in to his yearning; he closed the distance to press their lips together.

Castiel had been wanting to do that for months now and, finally being able to, he didn't want to stop, _ever_. The softness of Dean's lips, the way they molded to Castiel's, as if they were made to be together, the warmth of them made Castiel want to spend hours just kissing Dean, to save in his mind how good it felt so he would never forget.

Clapping behind them made Dean break the kiss to turn his head, and Castiel followed him. Sam, Charlie, Jo, Rowena, and Crowley were all there, clapping at them with big smiles on their faces.

"It was about damn time you two kissed," Sam said, everyone agreeing around him.

Castiel and Dean chuckled, Castiel's cheeks heating up, and he only shrugged when he looked back at Dean. Sam was right; it really was about time they kissed.

**Author's Note:**

> So, did you like it? Leave a comment and a kudo and make this writer very happy!
> 
> As always, you can find me on


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